Taxonomy of the Damned
by lefeyz
Summary: What caused the dead to rise from their graves and attack Shilo village? This story, the diary of a scientist researching Karamjan zombies, offers one explanation.


uTaxonomy of the Damned

_i__Foreword/u_

_What you are about to read is a collection of correspondence, diary entries and research notes of which I have tried to construct a comprehensive account of a series of strange events of which no first-hand information remains. When it has come to filling in the causal gaps or explaining the documented phenomena, I have tried to my best to draw my conclusions solely from known facts and not, as you will see, from rumours, superstition and old wives' tales. I hope you; the reader, will follow my example._

_This is what we know for sure:_

_Early in the summer__ of 167, fifth Age, Dr. Jahnan Throker, an esteemed Misthalinian humanoidologist and a friend of your editor, set out to journey to the remoter parts of South Karamja with the intention of conducting some research on the local zombistic creatures. He had planned for the results to contribute as a case study in a long-term project of his –what would have been a seminal work on the zoological study of the undead. My friend, despite having spent the previous year working on his treatise and delivering lectures at his Alma Mater, The Varrock Institute of Earth Sciences, had always been a field researcher at heart and was beyond enthusiasm with his upcoming adventure._

_The last time we met was in Ardougne, Kandarin, a day before he was due to depart. Being a meticulously organised man, my friend had finished all the arrangements concerning his journey well beforehand and was free to spend the day in more pleasant pursuits. After some correspondential convincing, Jahnan had managed to persuade Lord Francis Handelmort, a local nobleman and a collector of arts and curios, to let him explore his collection for the day. I was allowed to escort him ( by being presented as his assistant) and while His Lordship's collection was and is no doubt both aesthetically impressive and of a great scientific value, only one piece of it persists clearly in my memory. _

_It was a painting. (The Karamjan artist's name escapes me) An oil colour done in virulent lilacs and yellows, with black outlines and a primitivist flat perspective. It depicted a landscape: jungle, river, village, all piled on top of another. And standing on what seemed to be a mountain in the middle of the jungle, a woman. The figure stood sky high, with an elongated body and warped limbs. She seemed to embody infertility, skin curving in between the ribcage and the hipbones, her breasts adroop, her face a skull. From her raised hands fell strings whose ends seemed to be bound to certain spots in the landscape. Behind this horrible anti-mother stood another creature, smaller but even more abominable; some kind of a disfigured demon with its head growing from its chest and a limp, oversized phallus hanging obscenely between its bandy legs. I do not believe a work of art has ever provoked such an emotional response in me. I was all at once disgusted, horrified, offended and enthralled. My memory might betray me here, but I recall a deep feeling of discomfort caused by the idea that my friend would travel to the place this ghastly picture came from._

_The following morning Jahnan boarded an ocean liner bound for Brimhaven, a Freeport town in North Karamja. The next time I heard of him was two weeks later, in the form of three letters –sent days apart from each other but delivered at once. The first one was by Jahnan himself, in which he discussed his intentions to explore some ruins in the eastern corner of the island. The second was signed by Mr. Mosol Rei, the head of Shilo's village council, who regretted to inform me that Dr. Throker was missing and presumed dead. In the third letter Mr. Rei confirmed my friend's passing away. In his post scriptum he invited me to come and collect Jahnan's luggage. A ticket for "The Lady of the Waves", a liner operating between Shilo and Port Khazard, was included in the envelope. A week from then I sailed to Karamja to retrieve, as I was to see, all that remained of my dear friend. _

_Among__ his possessions I discovered a draft of what I presume was intended to be the preface to his treatise. Unfortunately his landlord, Mr. Paramaya, had taken claimed most of my friend's papers and used them for rolling cigarettes. Page after page of unique knowledge, written on the supreme-quality papyrus ordered from Pollnivneach –gone, vanished in the air as an inn-keeper's smokes!_

_By the time I arrived in__ Shilo, no more than a few sheets survived. I have included those here as, indeed, a preface, but for an entirely another kind of a work. I hope that they will shed some light on the character of my friend and, as he surely would have appreciated, educate the reader on the difficulties of the zoological study of the undead._

_Raktuber the 4th__, AS 168,_

_In Varrock, Kingdom of Misthalin_

_Dr. Eli Rhani Walkmerh__/i_

uNotes on the taxonomical classification of the un-dead/u

By Jahnan A. Throker, E., Varrock Institute of Earth Sciences

Nota Bene: I have used my judgement to exclude two species colloquially referred to as "un-dead" (vampyres and were-wolves, respectively) from my study due to certain zoological ambiguities concerning their case. The precise explanation on the matter may be found in the appendix.

As my reader will readily notice, the nature of the beings grouped together as "the un-dead" differs greatly in so many aspects that we possibly ought to question the validity of the entire concept.

As presented in diagram A, it is evident that besides the grouping based on the formal ethereal/corporeal-division, another distinction may be drawn between "the restless dead" and "the invoked dead" i.e. those who were unable to "pass on" in the first place, usually due to circumstances surrounding their deaths –As is the case with most hauntings- and those whose souls or bodies had been laid to rest as nature intended, but were later necromantically risen.

A further division inside the latter class can be made between the "summoned", i.e. spirits who have been called back to this world (in ethereal form, inside their own bodies or in another, living, "host-body") and the plain, non-sapient "re-animated", inside whose corpses remains no trace whatsoever of the soul that once resided there.

Here we return to the original question of the validity of the concept of "the un-dead" as a taxonomical category. What, in fact, is the common denominator between, say, what the Kharidians call "bone-guards", re-animated skeletons that have been granted, through necromantic enchantment, an ability to sense, move and act according to the task assigned to them - and a sapient ghost who -save for the body of flesh having been substituted with an ethereal one-, retains the same personality in death as in life? In other words, what empirical evidence do we have that beings which can be corporeal or ethereal; sapient, instinctively behaving or entirely lacking in any mental functions; naturally born or artificially created have enough shared qualities for them to be classified under the same heading?

_Here, regrettably, the page ends in a torn edge. According to Mr. Paramaya, the ink added to the flavour._

uI: Karamjan Gods/u

_At eleven in the morning, 12__th__ of Fentuary, 167"Camorra", a Trader Fleet galleon bound for Brimhaven departed from Ardougne with my friend on board. This we know, as one of the items lucky enough to survive Mr. Paramaya's bonfire was Jahnan's journal in which he recorded everything from daily events to research notes to his own personal musings. During the two days' voyage –apparently an uneventful affair- he made no notes save for some arbitrary scribblings concerning the arrangements for his voyage._

_The following excerpt is the first entry in his log to have any relevance in this work._

14.6., Brimhaven, Karamja

An illness struck me the last night at the sea and by the time we docked I had to be carried on shore on a stretcher. So far I have only been able to acquaint myself with my new surroundings through the voices coming in through my window of room no. 7 of the Dead Man's Chest Inn. (What a name indeed…)

In the daytime Brimhaven is made of shouts: yelled orders and curses; cries and calls of sailors and vendors, the sounds of ships arriving and departing. After dusk it is crickets and birds and mosquitoes and the ever persisting crash of the waves, which on this narrow peninsula comes from two directions at once.)

Somebody sings outside. Asgarnian accent to a Karamjan tune and blast this heat. My room is sufficiently clean and the mosquito net seems intact but the landlord advised me to keep the oil lamp on anyway to fend off any insects. How can a man be that note-deaf?

As I can't sleep in this heat and this music and this fever and the rush of the mighty waves over the eaves it is better to work. It is better to work in the fever-ridden night when the gods walk. The cunning, greedy, lecherous gods who walk among us and leave their shadows to guard their realms.

The Karamjan have no gods, not at least in the sense we understand the word. The closest to what their deities come to by our yardstick is "entities" or "spirits" Some of these used to be mortals, others were born into godhood. Some are friendly towards humans, some are hostile, most of them don't care what happens to us. Each of these beings owns some aspect of the world, so that not one part of it is left ungoverned.

The lesser deities own smaller elements: a certain species of plants or animals, or a specific rock or clearing in the jungle. The more powerful own things like fire, or running water, or newborn babies. Farmed land, stories and the skill of working metal into tools and weapons are each property of one of these entities.

Another noteworthy point on the matter is terminological. The Ramjai word for (demonic) possession is both morphologically and semantically identical with ours, but the actual nature of "being possessed" differs essentially from how it is understood in continental cultures.

Possession, as defined in _Principia Diabolica _means "The sate of being under the control or channelling the spirit of an external entity in order for it to gain a direct contact to the corporeal world; avatarism."

To the Karamjan "bokodore" (_kodore_ = ownership; to own; to govern over; power + nominalising prefix _bo_-, lit. "ownage") is what happens to a person who has somehow violated the property of a god. If, for instance, a man were to slay a _shaikahan _or to fish from a certain river without having asked for permission from their respective owners, the offended spirit would be entitled to take him, body and mind, into its possession as payment for "stolen goods."

As possession is thus seen as a form of divine justice, exorcision, or the attempt of thereof, is considered unthinkable and blasphemous.

16.6. Brimhaven

Whatever took me down on board has passed and left me free to oversee the arrangements for the rest of my journey. The landlord took care of hiring assistants –a guide and to carriers –and even with his commission added the workforce expenses are ridiculously low.

A rather sad state of affairs, in fact. While the economy of Northern "colonised" Karamja has flourished with the exportation of timber and fruit (and in the case of Brimhaven, some less toward products) and the southern townships thrive on minerals and sand, the central part of the island is in deep distress. Poor in resources and unsuited for agriculture, the Karamja heartlands have nevertheless grown a population too large to support by the traditional means of hunting and fishing. As a result their younger generation is now migrating north, accepting any low-paid work in Musa and Brimhaven or enlisting as sailors. A growing amount makes for the continent, Ardougne or Port Khazard, where many of them join the paramilitary forces of the area's eponymous general…

Once past the Brimhaven Isthmus ( a most unlikely formation; a natural bridge of sand a mile long that joins the northern and central parts of the island) we will pass through these troubled lands and head directly south to the village of Shilo, which will serve as my base. Hopefully, from there I will be able to make expeditions to two sites: Cairn Isle and some little-known ruins in East Karamja that are somehow connected to the cult of Rashiliyia.

17.6. Tai-boa'nnai (or as in continental mistranscriptions, Tai Bwo Wannai)

Ramjai, the native language of South and Central _Karamjans_ resembles no other language spoken by the humans of Gielinor. ("Language" encompasses a number of geographical and tribal dialects.) And as it is also on the verge of extinction for reasons mentioned above, I decided to write down a few notions on its grammar as well as a sample vocabulary, the latter having been compiled with the aid of Mr. Safta Doc.

While my notes are scarce and rather disorganized, I hope dear Eli will think them a welcome souvenir and have a jolly good time figuring them out. _(I did, Jahnan. I did.)_

Nota Bene: The translation of the deathly goddess' name might not be entirely accurate, as Mr. Doc, at the mention of the name, excused himself and retired from my company.

uII: A conversation with Mr. Salika/u

_During his stay in Shilo Jahnan wrote several letters to a Varrockian lady of his acquaintance. While the recipient of his letters wished for her name to be omitted from this work, she allowed me to publish the following sample from their correspondence__, an excerpt from a letter dated 19__th__ of Fentuary, 167._

Like in Tai Bwo, the locals in Shilo have staunchly refused to discuss _bokodore _or other darker aspects of their religion. I have tried to approach the subject both indirectly and explicitly and always received the same response: silence, shut-down, retreat.

The sole exclusion to this has been a Mr. Yanni Salika, a dealer of antiques and other curiosities as well as a community leader of sorts in Shilo. We were introduced by chance, when upon my arrival I questioned our guide about the availability of any recordings of the local history. I was promptly instructed to consult the antiques trader who, as I was to discover, maintained a library of commendable size adjacent to his shop.

Contrary to the attitudes of his townsmen I found Mr. Salika fairly eager to discuss the local deities and their relation to the empirical world. It was from him that I first heard, after some convincing and considerable alcoholic bribery, a concise recounting of the legend of Rashiliyia.

The Queen of the Dead was originally a mortal, albeit a priestess and sorceress of great power. After the untimely death of her only son, Bervirius, she lost her mind and sank to using black magic in order to get him back. Desperate and insane in her sorrow, she tried to contact his spirit by venturing far into the Land of Dreams.

But as the dead belong to a world of their own she did not find him. The only person she came across there was an entity referred to as "The Red Man". But as Rashiliyia knew that anyone who could physically enter the Land of Dreaming had to be powerful indeed, she addressed the stranger and begged for his help. The Red Man admitted that he did indeed have the might to bring her son back to life, but in exchange she would have to hand herself over to be possessed by him until released. The priestess, blinded by mad hope, accepted and a deal was made.

Upon returning to the Waking World Rashiliyia made her way to Cape Cairn where the Red Man had said her son would come to meet her. It was then; down by the water at dawn that she had her child back: The ground at her feet cracked and out of the chasm rose the corpse of Bervirius, the bones of his limbs broken, his skin an ashen grey. He limped jerkingly, as if controlled with strings. When he spoke to greet his mother it was as if an outside power was moving his mouth and forcing the air in and out of his lungs. Upon seeing the abomination the Red Man had made her son into and realising she had been deceived, Rashiliyia screamed until her eye whites turned blue. Then she grabbed a rock and smashed the skull of the zombie, allowing the animating magic to escape. As the spell fled and the corpse collapsed, the crag underneath shattered so that the entire isthmus of Cairn crumbled to the seas.

On the remaining islet, kneeling by the body of the son she had now lost for the second time, Rashiliyia called out for the Red Man to answer for this deception. He soon appeared and spoke to her: "Priestess, we had an agreement. I would bring your son back to this world and in exchange you would serve me. I have fulfilled my end of the deal, now it is time for you to keep yours." That very moment Rashiliyia felt life flee her as her body and mind fell under the control of the Red Man. "As you are dead and so is your child, your name shall be the Mother of the Dead. Your task is collecting the bodies of the deceased for me. You will look after them like a mother looks after her children. Send forth your three arms; the poison, the illness and the rage and reap yourself a family and to me a worthy army."

Having finished his tale, which was indeed told better than what I have managed to reproduce here, my host seemed to sink into a reverie. As he showed no sign of returning to the present moment, I took lead by refilling our glasses and casually mentioning about the portrait of Rashiliyia in Lord Handelmort's collection. Mr. Salika seemed to instantly abandon whatever train of thought had been travelling through his mind –his head snapped up, eyes locking on mine full of horror. For a moment he sat like that, stock-still, wide-eyed, knuckles whitening from the grip on his glass. Then, as if remembering something, he relaxed from this cramp, eyes vacant in a way that betrayed his thoughts had strayed off again.

When the shopkeeper spoke again, he still seemed far away. "Was the artist Karamjan or born to Karamjan parents elsewhere?"

"The latter, I think."

"Thought so. Then", he continued tentatively, "I hope like hell that his parents have had the sense to tell him that he can't ever dream to visit the old country." Seeing my expression, his became almost mocking. "I hope you understand when I say that painting a picture of a god most definitely ranks as invading their territory. If that man was ever to set a foot on Karamja no-one in here would question Rashiliyia's right to his life. For a moment Mr. Salika seemed to fade off again. Then, pulling himself together, he looked me straight in the eye and said: "I hope you will bear that in your mind once you set out to do your researching."

I hope most sincerely that you enjoyed this story and that I'll have more to tell you once I return. Above all I hope that you are well and worry not over me.

Yours faithfully,

Jahnan Throker

uIII: Into the Jungle/u

_From here on the journal entries become more frequent but decline in length and eloquence. _

_Uncharacteristically Jahnan did not record his route or mark any coordinates, but from the description of the scenery it appears that they took a detour through the erosion-ridden lands north of Shilo rather than risking crossing the river at the waterfalls near the village._

_By the time the next entry is made, they seem to have been travelling upstream along the River Taifeazi with a bottleneck point in the stream as their destination._

23.6.East Karamja, exact location unknown

Night.

C. estimates we should reach the crossing before midday tomorrow. Once east of the river, our route will be entirely dictated by the weather. Any amount of rain will apparently turn the ground near the river too soft for anything heavier than a crane to walk on, or in the worst case, wash several acres of loose soil into the stream. Should anything like that occur, we'll make a detour alongside the east coast (which oughtn't to add more than three days to the journey in any case.)

Our current camp has been set in a horseshoe-shaped clearing opening into the river. The strange formation is, according to C, a result of one of those sudden, violent floods typical to the rain season. Apparently the abrupt rise of the waterline loosens up and washes away all the soil not bound by tree roots, resulting in bare, chute-shaped clearings between the trees. The one we have settled in is as if made for men to camp in. It has an even (and surprisingly dry) bottom of sand and silt, sheer banks (cut-throughs of the topmost soil layers) with tree roots protruding out of them, and a steep enough grade towards the riverside.

I'll try to get some sleep now –not for too long I'm afraid as the clipped straw I drew gave me the worst watch shift, the penultimate out of four.

23.6. (Continued)

Watch shift –three in the morning?

Got up half an hour ago, stoked fire.

Not a moment of silence has passed during the whole night. The chirrup-chree-chree of the crickets and the screaming of the birds came through even to my dreams. In the background was the sound of twigs snapping under the paws of scavengers and night hunters, but nothing bigger, nothing bigger.

It is hard to write by fire-light.

I investigated the waterline to pass the time. Rotten twigs snapping under my hands, smooth stones and dead leaves but nothing bigger, nothing bigger.

Among the debris I found a shard of bone. Human. Tibia. Broken diagonally at approximately half the length, malleoli intact. Polished by water, yellowed with age, age can not say. Regular, narrow grooves along the cutting surface. Meaning: sawn with a well-crafted jagged blade.

Some manner of carved tracks remain running alongside the length. Injuries from life or rituals performed with the body? Scratches or runes?

You see all sorts of things in these parts.

24.6.

Night-time once more.

As if I had the time to write during the day. C, who unlike the carriers has not grown restless, says we ought to reach the site by tomorrow afternoon. The said site, apparently some sort of a ruined shrine dedicated to Rashiliyia, has never been properly investigated but are likely to contain remains of the "invoked dead" who do not, as far as I know, walk these lands anymore. While the cult of Rashiliyia does not have followers in the conventional sense, the locals maintain a belief in her power –a belief that it was a god and not some long-forgotten practiser of necromantic magics –who would rise the dead from their graves and have them walk among the living once more.

The people in Shilo, as in Tai Bwo, were reluctant to admit that they still slaughter animals at wakes as an offering to Rashiliyia, so that she would take their bodies instead of that of the departed beloved.

Question: The practice of invoking the dead, when did this die out, cyclic nature of these events? –So far no answers.

25.6.

We arrived at our destination –instantly recognisable by the description given by Mr. Salika –at approximately 14:30 today. The humidity is getting at my watch.

The site itself is a round barrow, fifteen feet across and ten feet high with steeply descending sides and some kind of a doorway constructed to face north. The door itself is sheltered by a stone frame, a slab laid horizontally over two standing ones and consists of two obsidian slabs mounted on crude and thoroughly oxidised bronze hinges. A thin, deep groove runs down the middle but so far it is impossible to say whether the gate is solely ceremonial or an actual entrance to the barrow.

Whoever built it, chose the spot carefully: at a riverbend, far enough from the waterline to be unaffected by the floods but not as far as to be swallowed by the vegetation. The bedrock here rises high, breaching the topsoil and provides steady ground for the monument to stand on.

What am I doing here?

I've been collecting gifts for friends; stories for ---, Ramjai grammar for Eli and excavational notes for the archaeologists at the Institute –and under my own notepad's heading "Corporeal invoked dead in 5th age South Karamja" not a single note has appeared.

Pathetic.

Let us get to work.

uIV: The Children of Rashiliyia/u

26.6.

1st day of excavation.

The site has proved a source of material beyond my wildest hopes. And while the dutiful scientist in me insists that I only record the facts of my discoveries, I can't help the agitation or the feeling of deep unrest that awoke in me in the catacombs –for that is what we found. Content that there was nothing more to learn from the outside of the barrow, we proceeded to investigate and unseal the door. At the end it there was no other way to open it than to remove the top monolith and push the entire frame with its rust-jammed hinges in. Once we are finished I'll make my best to restore the gate, but for now –the way is open.

As the door toppled forward, I momentarily expected a sound, a crash, a cloud of dust, as if the shrine should have somehow _reacted_ to the breach. But nothing rose from the silent dark to greet us, save for a wave of unhealthy, mouldish stench, alien and out of place in the afternoon sun.

Beyond the door –here the carriers laid down their shovels, wordlessly gesturing they would not follow further –a staircase descended into the dark, barely two foot wide between in-caving walls, the earthen ceiling just high enough to allow a man walk them bent double. In lanternlight I saw the steps carved into the bedrock, their surfaces glistening with damp, inviting me down. Crouched on the threshold, breathing in that hellish stink and seeing the light gleam on the fungal slime on the walls… I looked a while into the abyss, a conviction growing in my mind that going down those stairs would somehow seal my fate, whatever that would be.

This is not the scientist talking. This is a scientist's memory of a fleeting wave of emotion that passed, as it should, on the spot. Senses adjusted, the initial claustrophobia passed, reason overran primal fear. Accompanied only by C, I made my way into my grave.

What we found there is again hard to describe in methodical terms. I still have no idea of to what extent the tunnels were man-made or natural, or how far they went. But while we can't have spent more than two hours in the caves, by the time we reappeared at the foot of the stairs our initial footprints, deep and detailed in the muddy clay, were already filled with dark water. Of the distance I know nothing as we both lost count of steps shortly –when we saw what we saw.

Lined up along the walls, lying in mined alcoves or piled on top of another between the spider's leg tree roots, were Rashiliyia's children. The mummified corpses, but skeletons in paper-thin sking bared the teeth of their slack-jawed skulls as their bottomless eye sockets saw us, the living. In the pale light my vision turned green, showing the grey corpses in sickly yellows and poisonous blues, the flicker of a flame creating illusions of movement, of liquid air and rippling shadows. For a second or two, I believed myself dead. Unable to breath, surrounded by cold, lightless silence, I was drowned, my body rotting at the bottom of the ocean amid the millions of others the sea had claimed.

And as at the door, the illusion was then gone. The air was stale and the cadavers grey and neither moved, not even half a shade.

While the extent of the tunnels has yet to be secured, my approximation is that the main line ran some two miles long, roughly in the south-west direction. Judging by the varying degrees of moisture and the distant rush of water (the only sound in that hellpit) we passed under rivers twice and probably ended somewhere near the south coast of Central Karamja.

That end was anticlimactic, a round chamberlet that judging by the look of the walls could have been destroyed by a mudslide at the slightest disturbance. The room (glorified dead end) served as the resting place of a single body, laid out on a dolmen. A man, some six foot tall, an iron spear (now melded with the stone by rust) on one side and the remains of a wooden shield on the other. There were remains of adornments, jewellery, clasps that once held cloth and some kind of a cross between a headband and a helmet now holding together a cracked skull.

But nothing more, nothing more. The dead were many but none of them walked. Whatever the place has to do with the cult of Rashiliyia, it seems she has been neglecting her duties there recently.

Were the corpses placed there to be summoned one day? To prevent them from being summoned? Either way, for now they sleep.

I collected item samples on our way back to determine the age of the place –many of the corpses had some kind of jewellery or remains of weapons squeezed in their fists. I tried to get as thorough a cut-through as possible by selecting specimens at regular intervals along the tunnel and of as many types as possible. Having just one dated would allow the ruling out of quite a chunk of eternity. But that will be another story as well as somebody else's trouble once I'm back at the Institute.

_i__The catalogue drafted between the entries for the 26__th__ and the 27__th__ describes minutely over twenty samples of rusty jewellery and broken weapons. Only one of these is returned to later, sample no.2, "Dolmen man's bracelet". _

_Nota bene: "line writing" refers to the little-used Ramjai writing system which repeats the spoken language's structure by arranging line-patterns signalling bound morphemes around pictograms that symbolise the root words. The appearance of line-writing is thought to have been modelled on the bamboo whittlings traditionally used as currency in South Karamja, a theory that emphasises the undeniable link between the development of an economy and the development of writing./i_

"No.2, Bracelet, final chamber, worn by dolmen man on right wrist.

A bracelet of handbeaten bronze, condition v. good. ¼ inch thick, opening approx. 3", length 6".

Ends decorated with carved spiral motif running along edge, rest of outer surface covered in line-writing. Text carved, divided into four columns running lengthwise and separated by raised sections. Translate text!" (Excavation report)

27.6.

2nd day of excavation.

Drawback. The illness I thought gone has returned and for now field research has to cease.

With the excavation arrested for the time being, I had the door re-sealed before we left for our current place of stay, a shipyard secluded in the east coast, where the foreman has rented as cabins until I am fit to travel again.

I can feel the fever coming on again. It left me for the day (having risen in the night; waking me ashiver with cold sweat, my vision full of distorted shapes and a breath of the tomb's stench on my face) which allowed me to walk most of the way myself. Another bad move, I see.

I still have the sample material to work with, mainly the writing on no.2. The marks signalling semantic relations are clear but the words themselves I don't recognize. Four columns, hence four sentences or utterances, no sign of reading order.

1. This something I something/someone that does something (and/or something, meaning seems oxymoronic) create/give to something

2. Subject of sentence 1.'s something is/will be an all that/who (causal relation…to do to?) something.

3. Subject of sentence 1.'s (plural) something that/who (end identical with sentence 2.)

4. This is/will be something in something with an emphasising prefix.

Now that was enlightening.

28.6. Shipyard

Evening.

My intention to reattempt translating no.2 was thwarted by an overnight decline in my condition. The bracelet and the first draft, alongside a pictogram dictionary borrowed from some fellow who apparently represents the yard's client, all lie unused on my bedside table.

The symptoms appear (_feel, damn it) _more like a septicaemia than an ordinary fever…the sensation in my limbs alters between numbness and excruciating cramps. I can't hold down anything save for water. I fear, every second, for the next wave of spasmodics and pain, flames travelling up and down my nerves, muscles contracting as if to tear themselves off the bones.

The light hurts my eyes. I don't want to close my eyes. I don't want to sleep. I don't want to dream.

The fever rose again last night as I predicted. I was weak but in a stable condition and fast asleep before sundown. C. checked on me around midnight and reports that I was fevered, but in sound, untroubled sleep.

I dreamed then. I dreamed I was in this bed, in this cabin, vaguely aware of the mosquito net above my half-closed eyes, waves breaking on sand somewhere at the edge of my consciousness. I dreamed of a figure appearing at the open door, framed in pale light. I dreamed of seeing it by my bed. In my dream it flipped aside the mosquito net and stood towering over me, its face unseen in the dark. Yet against the moonlit white veil I could make out its misshapen body, bent legs with a goat's knees, unnaturally long arms ending in knife-like claws; a hint of facial features above the emaciated ribcage where its chest should have been. In a dream of fever-addled sensations melting together in my mind, I could still see every detail of that creature. I remember every detail. Malformed and diseased, gangrenous skin peeling off the bones, it stood by me for a spell, contemplating maybe, smelling of rotting flesh and mould, of faeces and burning skin. Then its arms extended to grip my shoulders and the abomination climbed on top of me and sat straddled on my chest, its weight suffocating me. Filthy fingers plied my jaws open, abscesses on the palms oozing on my face. The talons dug deep into the face of my flesh, forcing my lips apart. Bringing its chest-head over mine, the demon vomited green bile into my mouth. I could feel the venom trickling down my throat, spreading in my veins. When it released my head I could already feel the first cramps coming on. As it got off me, got out of my bed and disappeared in the dark, the pain began.

I don't want to sleep. I don't want to dream.

29.6.167. Shipyard

Afternoon.

Better already –which I hope isn't another momentary relief, as on the client's overseer's orders no-one is to enter or leave the shipyard for the time being. As far as I know this has nothing to do with myself or my crew.

I was finally able to attempt translating the bracelet text, now with the aid of the pictogram dictionary. The rough draft is ready, but as understanding the pragmatic meaning of certain word-combinations would require a deeper understanding of some of the interacting mechanisms of meaning formation (Where are you when I need you, Eli?) and certain cultural concepts, the final version will have to wait.

1. This guard I who kill life to give birth (sic) give to the man from me. (sic)

2. The vengeance of (kills life to give birth) vengeance is/will be on all who do (something bad) to the man from me.

3. Those belonging to (one who kills life to give birth) will destroy/take all those who do (something bad) to man from me.

4. This is (very specified meaning of "good") in all great world.

Still not too close to the truth, I'm afraid.

i _( Following paragraph is has been crossed over in the manuscript.)_ /i

I dreamed again last night. I was back at the barrow and this time, the demon was waiting for me. It walked me to the barrow entrance and there, beyond the door, I could hear a thousand bone-dry fingernails scratching at the stone. The faint rustle sounded like a million cockroaches as those within fought to get to the door, wearing off what little skin was left on their hands against the obsidian, until I all I heard was the screech of bare bone against cold stone.

The thing told me they were waiting for me.

It said I would join them.

It would be the repayment for my offence.

As one of them though, I would not be entitled to my eyes.

I would not be entitled to my flesh.

I would not be entitled to my blood.

They would look after those matters.

Given that my condition doesn't wane again, we will return to Shilo as soon as the curfew is lifted. I'll have Mr. Salika have a look at both the specimen collection and my translation, then send the former to the Institute and the latter to Eli. Once I make full recovery my intention is to have the Institute recommence the excavations east of the river and head for Cairn Isle myself.

Unless something drastically different is found there, I shall turn the project over to the department of archaeology and proceed to look for subjects for a case study of the invoked dead, such as they are, elsewhere.

_i__At nightfall of 30__th__ of Fentuary the 30__th__, 167, Jahnan –as witnessed by his guide, the shipyard foreman and several of its workers, attempted to sneak away from the yard and when attested, blindly attacked the workmen with a sledgehammer, killing one and injuring two others. Having fought his way free, he climbed over the fence enclosing the yard and in the words of one of the surviving two men, disappeared into the jungle, not running,, but stumbling forward in spastic jerks, his head lolling and his arms hanging limp, not a trace of the ferocity of moments ago to be seen. And no more of him has since been seen anywhere else._

_By the time the curfew –issued due to a violent outbreak of smallpox in Tai Bwo Wannai and the surrounding communities –ended, rain and the natural cycle of jungle life had washed away whatever imprints or remains might have been otherwise found.__ News of Dr. Throker's disappearance was sent to Shilo, wherefrom they were forwarded to the Institute, and eventually, to me. Most of Jahnan's previous research notes, as stated before, had been destroyed, but the journal had been brought back and stored away by "C", his guide, who handed it over to me._

_And as stated before, I shall not speculate on my friend's fate. The most likely guess, given the nature of his illness, is that he suffered a bout of hallucinations or similar kind of insanity, resulting in his insane actions and death. Instead, I will dedicate the last lines of this prolonged obituary to fulfilling my intended purpose in his work: translating the line-writing text on specimen no.2, a bronze bracelet dating to the latter half of the fourth age./i_

1. This is the blessing I, Rashiliyia, place on my son.

2. Rashiliyia's wrath will be on all those who do him harm.

3. The ones Rashiliyia commands will be sent to destroy those who harm her son.

4. As is known to be right and just by all.

_i__(Nota bene: "Rashiliyia" is another example of incorrect transcription, caused by the absence of the voiced affricate [dz] in the continental languages. The correct written form would be "Rashilaiazhia", pronounced "Rah-shíl-dzha" –the elements "rashi" and "laiazia" literally mean to "destroy life" and "create humans". The pragmatic meaning of the combination could be translated as "Gives birth to death".)/i_

14


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